Hunger pains
by Winchester815
Summary: Its August 2014, and the fate of the planet is still in Dean's hands. It is the year of the 77th annual Hunger Games, and Dean Winchester is one of the tributes. I apologize for the bad summary!
1. Tribute

_**A/N: New story idea that I am giving a try. I tried to get this to take place in 2014, like in season 5's episode "The End."_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters! I will mention it in later chapters if there is a character of my creation. Sadly I do not own Supernatural or the Hunger Games._

_This is a story of Supernatural with a Hunger Games twist to it. There is no characters from the Hunger Games in this story. Therefore, I did not list it under crossover. /**_

**Chapter 1 - " TRIBUTE"**

The first light of day is one of the only peaceful sights left in this sad excuse for a city.

The sunrise, as of right now, is the only thing not effected by the residents of this planet

I stood watching the bright, colorful glow, rise above the tree tops. The start of a new day.

_A new day for disaster._

It was August 12th 2014, and the fate of this world was hanging by a thread.

"Dean," I heard someone say behind me. Chuck stood, holding out a cup of black tea.

I took it, giving him a nod in appreciation.

"You know what today is, don't you?" Chuck asked. "Dean, today is the day of the reaping. They are going to select two tributes from each of the districts to be participants in The Games."

I didn't respond. There was no need to. I didn't care who got pulled into the Games. I didn't care if it is me. The way I see it, if I'm going out, I'm going out fighting.

I gulped down the rest of my tea and pushed the empty cup back into Chuck's hands.

I took one last look at what could be my last sunrise, and turned away.

Chuck followed.

"Dean, you are going to the reaping, right? You know that it is law. The Lord's demand."

"Do you think I give a rat's ass what the lord wants me to do?" I asked.

"Dean," Chuck said, worry in his voice. "You know the punishment for those that refuse to go to the reaping."

"Capital punishment." I said. Not news to me. I don't think there was ever a time someone hadn't threatened my life.

"Yeah, and doesn't that bother you? The thought that you might _die _ if you don't attend it?" Chuck asked.

"None of it bothers me, Chuck. None of it!" My anger exploded, and I wheeled around to face him. "It doesn't matter who gets chosen. We all know our fate, anyway. Those that are not killed in The Games, will die of either disease or starvation. And those that win The Games won't survive the end of the world. It's the same outcome in the end, we all die."

Chuck froze at my out burst, and he stared at me in horror. I had no remorse. I meant what I said, and he needed to hear it.

I turned to walk to my shelter. A old, small, decrepted house. But any standing building was a delicacy, nowadays.

I entered my house, the worm-chewed door slamming behind me. I picked up a bottle of bourbon off of the counter, and poured myself a glass.

I swallowed a mouthful, cringing at the burning as it fell down my throat.

I could hear the voice of the host of the reaping ceremony over a loud speaker in the centre of the city of ruins.

They sound so cheery. Which is just funny, since they are pulling innocent people from their families, and sending them into a inescapable arena, destined to kill or be killed.

The dead silence of the city was chilling.

Unlike any other ceremony, there was no applause or cheering. Just the speaker, and a silent audience.

I drank the last of my glass of bourbon, and decided to make my way to the reaping.

In previous years, only people between the ages of 12 and 18 were selected into the Games each year.

The rules have changed, and now basically anyone of any age can be chosen. From children as young as 12 to any age of adult.

And there can only be one winner.

All the pale, fear-stricten faces, stared at their feet. I watched several of them. Scared, was the only word that could sum them up.

A couple of them looked back at me, often with a expression I could not read.

" The first tribute from District 8, of this year's annual Hunger Games is.." There was a heart-stopping pause, the crowd silent. " Preston Mills!"

There was a blood-curldling scream. A woman flung herself over her son. "No! Please! No!" She wailed, tearing flowing down her cheeks.

"Mum, It's Ok." The boy said. But his mother would not let go.

"Take me! Take me instead! Let my boy live!" She screamed.

People that stood around her tried to pry her off of Preston.

I stood, with a sigh and walked over.

I grabbed the woman the arm. "He was chosen." I said to her.

She stared at me in the eyes. "And that makes it Ok?" She asked.

I blinked. No, it wasn't Ok. But that doesn't change anything.

I let go of her arm and turned to the boy.

"How old are you?" I asked him, resting a palm on his shoulder.

"Thirteen." He said.

I thought for a moment. A thirteen year old boy, being forced to fight people some maybe triple his age.

I inhaled sharply. Thinking.

I squeezed his shoulder and turned to face the hostess of the reaping.

"I volunteer." I said.

The crowd turned to face me. I ignored them.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I said louder, pushing my way to the front of the crowd.

"A volunteer!" The hostess said excitedly." It has been several years since we had one fo those. What is your name?"

"Dean Winchester."

"The first tribute for the 77th annual Hunger Games, of district 8, is Dean Winchester!"

The crowd cheered half-heartedly. None of them were actually happy about anyone being chosen. Everyone knew that there was a chance anyone could be.

"The second tribute is.." The hostess pulled out a peice of paper and read the name. "Castiel!"

My heartbeat skipped. My stomach turned to a hunk of ice.

I grabbed the hostess by the arm. "I thought that there had to be one male and one female from each district."

"The rules have changed slightly. It is whoever is drawn." She told me, with a sickening smile on her face.

Cas made his way to the front.

"Hello Dean." He said, with a expression on his face I couldn't read.

I looked over at him. And at that moment, I wished I hated him. That would make this a hell of a lot easier.

"Hello Cas." I said.

Cas stared at me for a long moment. Then he followed the Gamekeepers.

I guess Heaven now has their way when it comes to us. With Castiel being a rebel-angel and me being a major thorn in their ass, I bet it made them thrilled to see us fighting for our lives.

We left our camp Chitaqua, of distrct 8, and boarded a train that would take us to the gaming grounds.

Many different kinds of foods were offered to us. A huge buffet was set up on the train.

Niether Cas nor I would eat. When you're being sent off to your death, food isn't the first thing on your mind.

Cas sat watching the passing scenery, with a solumn look on his face.

"So, don't we do some training with a mentor or something before we enter the arena?" I asked.

"We train, but not with a mentor." He said, glancing at me briefly.

I sat up, and looked at him. "Why not?"

"The Game makers think we are trained enough already. More trained than the other tributes."

I shook my head. "So, it's only us without the mentors?" I was finding that hard to believe. Just because we had some experience fighting, it did not make us experts at a game we've never played.

"No." He said. He color changed. He looked paler.

"Who else doesn't have a mentor?" I asked him.

Castiel inhaled deeply and stared at me. I think he tried to get me to read his eyes, but my mind was flooded with too many things to focus.

"A tribute from district 6. He himself is a mentor for the other tribute of the district."

"And who is he?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of his.

"He's your brother."


	2. Training

Chapter 2: "Training"

I stared at Cas in disbelief. What did he mean _my brother?_

Sam, from what I understood, was dead. Was killed in Detroit after a fight.

Adam would be the only other possibility, but he's been gone for years.

"What the hell do you mean?" I asked, my words slithering out of my mouth.

"Sam, is another tribute, Dean," Castiel said as he turned to look out the window again.

"Sam is dead, Cas."

There simply was no way in hell...

"That is what I thought too. We were both wrong, Dean, and now we have to face your brother in the arena."

I sat back, glaring down at the table.

This is the world, once again, biting me in the ass.

My mind flashed back to years ago, after dad died.

I stood next to Sam.

_"Before dad died, he told me something." I remember saying to him. "Something about you. He said that he wanted me to watch out for care of you."_

_"He's told you that a million times." Sam said to me._

_"This time was different." I said, looking down. "He said that I had-" I remember trying to find the right words. "To save you."_

_"Save me from what?" He asked."_

_"He just said that I had to save you. That nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn't, I'd.." I paused._

_Sam looked at me. "You what, Dean?"_

_"I'd have to kill you." I clenched my teeth. "He said I might have to kill you, Sammy."_

For all these years I have tried to avoid the inevitable

After all we've been through together, one of us would have to kill the other in the end.

I wished he had actually died in Detroit, like I orginally thought.

A woman entered the room. Her hair was a bright red and tied up. She wore a ton of make up and her eyelashes were abnormally long.

"Hello, I'm Sabine. Dean's stylist." She greeted.

"My what?"

"Your stylist. It's my duty to make you look sharp for the interviews." She said excitedly.

I looked at her for a long moment. She couldn't be serious..

"Uh, no." I said, turning to Cas.

"But Dean..."

"Since when were we on first name bases, Sabby?" I asked.

She gave me a sharp glare and strutted off.

"Dean," Cas began. I looked up. " You actually want people to like you."

"They are sending us into a death-trap, Cas, and you want me to like them?"

"If you're liked, you are more likely to be sponsered."

"Sponsered? What is this, boy scouts?" I snorted.

"Sponsers are able to send you supplies when needed."

"What will I need if I bring-"

"You cannot bring anything, Dean. It's against the rules."

_Against the rules_. I find it funny that everyone thinks of this as a game. Setting a bunch of people loose, and watching them kill eachother.

And a stylist? Its like I'm modelling for this year's next top serial killer.

I stood suddenly. Cas looked up to me, he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but no words came out.

I gave him a nod and left the table and headed down the hall of the train to my bedroom.

I thought I should make good use of the bed while I had one to use.

The sheets were a pearl white colour and flawlessly set against the mattress.

I examined my surroundings. How was something like this so well kept while the world was being destroyed? Then I looked down at myself. My hands and arms were covered in dirt and dried blood.

I decided to take a shower before I laid down to sleep.

The bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Small, but it was better than anything I've seen in years.

The water from the shower tap was clear and the water came down with pressure, unlike any I've seen in a long time. We considered a dribble lucky back at the camp.

I took a long, much needed shower. Letting the hot water soak through me.

After a while, I got out and looked around for my clothes.

"What the hell.." I muttered, unable to find them.

I saw a folded white robe on the counter top with a note, '_You're clothes are being washed and we hoped you'd wear this to sleep.'_

I crumpled up the note and threw it across the room. I took the robe and put it on.

Why the hell did they care about what I slept in?

I exited the bathroom and laid down on the bed. It was soft and comfortable. Something I was not use to.

I closed my eyes and began to fall into warm sleep.

"Dean," I heard someone say quietly. Tapping my shoulder.

My eyes opened and I looked up at Sam.

"Sam? Sammy?" I asked, sitting up quickly.

"Dean," He said with a smile. "It's been a long time."

"Sam, what happened? Where's Lucifer?" I asked him.

Sam looked down and back up to me. "He's resting."

I narrowed my eyes. What did he mean he was resting?

"Dean, I want you to promise me something." Sam said, looking me straight in the eye. "Promise me you'll win."

"Dean!" Someone said loudly in my ear. I jumped awake.

"Sammy?" I asked.

Cas tilted his head slightly to the side. "Uh, no."

"Cas, sorry. It was a dream. What do you want?" I asked, sitting up.

"We have to be to training in a hour." Cas said.

I blinked. I slept the whole night already?

"I thought we didn't need training." I said.

"We don't need mentors, but we still need training." Castiel explained.

The training sessions were held in a big, open hall. There was different stations, one for gun shooting, one for archery, sword fighting, knife throwing, and there was even one for knot tying.

All of the chosen tributes of this year were all in the same place, learning how to suceed at murdering one another. The gamekeepers were all treating this like it was a family get-together.

The fake smiles and kind words were making my stomach churn. The young tributes were slowing growing to trust these tricksters, and they are going to be in for a harsh awakening once the arena's gates open and the first cannon fires.

I watched as a young girl attempted to wheel a sword about the size of herself. Although she as was able to lift the sword, it plummelled to the ground when she took a step to swing.

I shook my head once, imagining the blade taking off her toes the next time it fell to the ground.

"Hold up," I said, walking to towards her. She looked up at me.

I went over to the box full of swords and picked up one more of her size.

"Try this," I said, handing her the sword and taking the big one from her.

She looked at the blade for a moment. Then took a big swing, nearly taking me out. I jumped out of the way.

"Much better," I said, getting out of the sword's range.

"Thanks," She said, swinging again.

"How old are you?" I asked, curious.

"Fourteen."

With her tiny frame, I thought she couldn't have been more than tweleve.

She took another swing, nearly knocking herself off balance.

The way she was going, she would take herself out with the blade before anyone else.

"Watch how I do it," I said to her. Using the big sword, I stepped forward and swung the sword out. "It's more about the force than it is the speed."

She watched me closely and copied my movements.

"Try to keep your arms straight and your feet together until you step forward to swing." I said.

She practised the motion a few times, than she lowered her sword and looked at me with a small smile on her face.

"What district are you from?" She asked me.

"Eight. I'm from district eight." I answered.

"I'm from district 5. Why are you helping me?"

"Because," I paused to sort out my words. " I didn't want you to hurt yourself before even getting in the arena."

"Well, thank you. And I really hope I don't have to kill you." She said, putting the sword away and changing stations.

I stood in shock for a moment.

Something about the way she said that hit me.

_I hope I don't have to kill you niether._

I tossed my sword back in the bin, and looked around for Castiel.

I spotted him over at the gun station. He had a M16 rifle aimed at a human-shaped target. He fired, hitting the target, but not making a fatal hit if it was a real.

"Scoot over, hot-shot," I said to him. Cas moved out of the way, giving me the use of the rifle.

I looked through the scope, and squeezed the trigger. The loud pop noise followed as the gun fired, sending a bullet through the wooden target's chest. I fired again, hitting the target square between the eyes.

I secured the safety on it, and left the station, feeling the eyes of many watching me.

I have always been talented when it came to gun shooting. Dad always told me I was a good-shot.

I stood and watched the archers. Some of them were quite good and were definitely some too look out for in the arena.

I felt a presense behind me.

I figured it would be Cas, but the vibe was telling me differently.

I waited for them to come into view.

"Hi Dean."

There was no doubt that I knew that voice.

Five years may have passed, but his voice was the same.

I sucked in air harshly before slowly turning to look at him.

Sam, stood behind me, a small grin across his face. His hair neatly combed, and he was cleanly shaved.

My lower jaw quivered. I wanted nothing more than to speak to him, but something was not right.

There was definitely something different about Sam.

I pulled myself together, clenching and unclenching my fist, attempting to calm myself.

"Quite the place for a reunion, brother." I said, hoarsely.

Sam looked around briefly, "It works," he replied.

I became silent.

What do you say to a long lost brother whom you're suppose to kill in only a number of days?

"It's funny," Sam said suddenly, laughing once.

My attention went back on him. "What is?"

"That both of us were chosen. What are the odds?"

"Clearly not in our favor." I said.

I began examining him. What was different?

"Dean," Sam said, a smile on his face.

He must have caught on to what I was doing.

"I'm not a shape-shifter. I'm not a demon.."

"Then what are you?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of his.

"I'm your brother."

Sam took a step towards me and I backed away.

"The hell you are.." I said. " And I suppose my brother has no problem taking me out?"

"Dean, it doesn't have to be that way," He said. "There is no reason why we couldn't work together."

"There is no way I'm going to be helping you." I said, my voice raising. "You see the difference between us, Sam, is that I have a problem with all of this. You don't."

"You think I like the Games, Dean?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I don't, Dean. I don't like it, what is there to like?" He asked.

I studied his face, trying to read his expression.

For a moment I thought that I may have been wrong about him. Maybe this was actually my little brother.

I looked into his eyes, and that gave me a answer.

There was something a little too dark in them. Something that was enjoying this too much.

"Perhaps the fact that you can kill innocent people without conscequences.." I said.

Sam tilted his head to the side slightly. "You don't trust me, Dean?"

"Should I?" I asked.

Sam sighed. "Dean, I don't want to kill anyone. Especially not my brother." He slowly turned, but before walking a away, he said, "Please don't make me."

I stared after him. Torn between believing my gut feeling, or what my mind was trying to tell me. Was this actually Sam? Was I over analyzing every move he made? Or am I right to believe that he is dangerous and can't be trusted.

I guess, only time can tell.


End file.
